


30 theme NSFW challenge by Shade

by ShadeDuelist



Category: Left 4 Dead 2, Supernatural, Team Fortress 2, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 30 day challenge, 30 theme challenge, Challenges, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, NSFW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-26 12:30:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeDuelist/pseuds/ShadeDuelist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are my 30 little stories for a 30 theme NSFW challenge.</p>
<p>See the notes for more info on themes (chapters), pairings, and other information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rainy days and stormy nights (Cuddles, Nellis)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the outline of the thirty themes, with the pairing behind it each time:
> 
> 1.Cuddles (naked) (Nellis) - 2.Kiss (naked) (Pyrocest) - 3.First Time (Destiel) - 4.Masturbation (Caryl) - 5.Blow Job (Ellis/Nick/Rochelle) - 6.Clothed Getting Off (Nellis) -7.Dressed/Naked (half dressed) (Pyrocest) - 8.Skype Sex (Destiel) - 9.Against The Wall (Caryl) - 10.Doggy Style (Knellis) - 11.Dom/sub (Nellis) - 12.Fingering (Pyrocest) - 13.Rimming (Destiel) - 14.69 (Caryl) - 15.Sweet And Passionate (Knellis) - 16.In Public Place (Nellis) - 17.On The Floor (Pyrocest) - 18.Morning Lazy Sex (Destiel) - 19.Outdoors, Woods, Parks, Gardens (Caryl) - 20.Your Own Kink (rough oral) (Keith/Ellis/Dave) - 21.Shower Sex (Nellis) - 22.On The Desk (Pyrocest) - 23.Trying New Position (Destiel) - 24.Shy (Caryl) - 25.With Toys (Tony/Pepper/Bruce) - 26.Boring Sex (Nellis) - 27.Rough, Biting, Scratch (Pyrocest) - 28.Role Playing (Destiel) - 29.With Food (Caryl) - 30.Whatever Pleases You (DP) (Keith/Ellis/Dave)
> 
> As you can see, I'm alternating between Nellis (Nick/Ellis, Left 4 dead 2), Pyrocest (Pyro/Pyro from Team Fortress 2, usually my Pyro OCs), Destiel (Dean/Castiel, Supernatural), Caryl (Carol/Daryl, The Walking Dead) and a randomly chosen OT3 from my favourite fandoms.
> 
> Also, in origin, this was a thirty DAY challenge, but because I'm working on some other large stories as well, and because my household and day-to-day life has its demands as well, I can't do a story a day. One, perhaps two, stories a week is feasible and I'll be striving for that.

“Nick, yew’ve gotta get outta yer wet clothes, man…”, Ellis said as he leaned against the wall of the house-turned-safe-room, his own T-shirt already off and in his hands as the mechanic wrung it out energetically.  “Nex’ thing yeh know, yew’ve gotta cold or pneumonia, an’-“

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not getting pneumonia from-“, Nick started, but a sneeze caused Ellis to look him over worried, which in turn led to him throwing up his hands, annoyed more so at his own body than at Ellis being right.  “Alright, alright, I’m changing out of them already!”  He glared at the hick and pulled off his suit jacket slowly – not because he wanted to move slow but because the thing clung to his arms.  Grumbling under his breath, Nick finally managed to wrestle it off him completely and then hung it over the edge of the kitchen counter to dry.  But before he could even turn to Ellis to say ‘see, I did what you asked’, the mechanic already protested.

“Nick, yew’ve still got yer shirt an’ yer pants on…  Yeh’ve gotta change outta yer clothes an’ wrap yerself in one’a those blankets if’n yew don’t wanna catch a cold or worse…”  Nick again grumbled curses, but this time not so much under his breath, causing Ellis to chuckle.  “Cursin’ at me’s maybe gon’ keep you warm enough at night, but ‘s not gonna keep them germs outta yer system.”  And Nick had to admit that the hick made perfect sense, so he kept quiet as he unbuttoned his shirt, while Ellis took off his coveralls.

Nick turned around just when Ellis had wobbled over to the slightly worn-looking sofa that stood off to the side and dropped down on it to untie his shoelaces and take off his coveralls all the way.  The sight was slightly comical, so he grinned and shook his head as he turned to his own pants.  His own shoes were loafers, meaning he could just kick them off, but he suspected his socks would later pose him the same problems as Ellis’ did to the hick right now – he was pulling hard on them, with the cotton abominations barely budging.

“…Everything still okay there, fireball, or d’you mean to say that your _socks_ are giving you more trouble than that _Tank_ did earlier?”, he asked sweetly, and Ellis chuckled again.

“Ah’m sayin’ ah ain’t never buyin’ no more ‘100% natch’ral’ socks ‘gain in mah life, they’s worse’n tha’ Smoker’s tongue yeh got all over yew yesterday back in th’factory, Nick.”  Nick shuddered at the memory and moved to sit down next to Ellis, turning to his own socks and finding, to his horror, that they were just as difficult as Ellis’ had been.  “…an’ ah’m guessin’ neither is yew, huh, Nick?”, Ellis commented, though this time without the slightly teasing grin that always managed to rub the con man the wrong way.   Suddenly, the mechanic picked up one of the blankets lying over the armrest of the battered sofa and walked to the kitchen counter again, socks in hand.

“…Hey Ellis, I’ll just-“, Nick started, but then Ellis, his back still turned to him, shimmied out of his wet boxers and Nick just froze.  Ellis was…

A lot of words came to mind at that second, but not one of them he ever thought of using about Ellis.  Gorgeous – he was definitely gorgeous, from the messy curls on his head to the way his calf muscles trembled when he leaned over the counter a bit to grab one of the first aid kits laying on the other side.  Stunning – Nick definitely was stunned, stuck, condemned to look, mouth agape, as his fellow survivor seemingly stretched in front of him.  Energetic – everything about Ellis exuded energy, and not only his demeanor did so: Nick could nearly feel the warmth of Ellis’ skin, the strength hidden in those well-toned arms and legs, the power in Ellis’ work-roughened hands.   Hot – the very look of him heated Nick to the core of his being, body and mind, and-

The sudden realization of what was happening had Nick crossing his legs, slowly and carefully.  Okay, so he wasn’t a stranger to being aroused by a man, but he had to be absolutely starved to start finding Ellis hot, he mused, because there was no way it was true.  Ellis was just… just Ellis, not some-

Ellis suddenly threw the blanket around himself, and Nick found himself cursing again mentally, once more frustrated, though for such a different reason this time that he’d appreciate the irony of it if he ever were to look back on it.

“…Nick, man, ah ain’t kiddin’…”  Ellis’ voice suddenly sounded less playful as he turned back to Nick, his eyes showing worry and the mental steeling that’d preceded him gently but definitively coercing Nick to do something.  Nick looked up at the hick to see him standing next to the sofa again, the blanket wrapped around him so tightly that it showed nothing of Ellis’ body anymore save the lower part of his legs.  It took Nick a long second before he realized what it was Ellis wanted him to do, and suddenly he became the shy one.

“Jesus, Ellis, you’re _not_ touching my underwear-“, he started, and Ellis sighed.

“Well, yew ain’t either, so one’a us is gonna have tuh get them wet clothes off’a yew.  Ah said ‘all yer wet clothes’ and I meant it, Nick, don’t yew doubt tha’ fer a second!”  Nick groaned and got up, taking another one of the blankets along as he walked to the kitchen counter.  The air around him felt even colder than it already did suddenly.

“Ell, I swear to God, you say one word and I’m…”, Nick said in his most desperate attempt to sound angry yet, because he couldn’t stand the shame in his voice, the wavering hesitation that made his hands shake as well as they moved to pull down his own briefs.  “And look at the wall for cryin’ out loud!”, he added – and when he gave an angry glance over to Ellis, ascertaining that the mechanic’s eyes were off him, he moved quickly, pulling off his underwear, laying it out on the kitchen counter so it could dry overnight, and wrapping the blanket around himself just as tightly as Ellis had wrapped it around himself.  “…Okay, that’s that.  Now, where are you gonna sleep, fireball?”, Nick said, his tone lighter again, and Ellis sighed.

“Nick, ‘s the middle of a storm out ‘ere, an’ we’re both naked an’ soaked, man… ah… hate tuh bring it up, but…”  He glanced towards the sofa again, and Nick realized what he was saying.

“…Aw _come ON!!_ ”, he groaned, but he didn’t protest.  In fact, Nick realized all too well that he was giving up easy.  When they’d had to go into the sewer, the only thing that’d driven him to jump in was the growl of a Hunter from overhead.  When they’d had to leave the walkways in the swamp, Nick had protested so vehemently that Coach had run off alone, and…  He sighed and sat down on the sofa, allowing Ellis to lean against his blanket-shrouded shoulder somewhat.  “…okay, okay, this better?”

“…Actually…”, Ellis said, and now Nick groaned in earnest, feeling tense.

“Come on, Ellis, you don’t honestly expect me to… to let you…”, the con man said, sounding just about as horrified as he had ever sounded before, and Ellis threw up his hands in response.”

“’Ey, man, ah don’’ like this any more ‘n yew do…”  Unbidden, a soft grin rose on Nick’s face at the thought of getting to feel Ellis’ skin against his own, of getting to feel those muscles and all the strength hidden in them – and for some reason Ellis’ words turned almost inviting.  “…but it’s gotta be done.  Ah ain’t gonna… y’know… _look_ at’chu or nothin’, Nick, a-an’ ah really ain’t gonna _do_ nothin’ either, jus’… jus’… ah ain’t like tha’…”  Nick could hear the sheer fear in those words, the panic, the worry, the desperation…

“Relax, Ellis, I didn’t say…”, he started, but Ellis suddenly spoke up again.

“…B-but ah… ah know what yeh’re thinkin’, Nick, a-an’… damn it, ah ain’t like tha’!”

“Ellis, relax…”, Nick repeated, this time slightly more worried – he didn’t know that Ellis would get so upset over his unease.  “…Y-you want me to…”

“Nick, ah don’t wan’chu tuh do anythin’...”, Ellis said, his voice low, trembling, fearful – everything it’d been after they’d had to leave the others behind back in the swamp, bringing back more memories of that time, memories that Nick firmly pushed away by leaning against the mechanic softly, speaking in a hushed, soothing tone.

“I’m not going to do anything, I swear.”

“… _ah need yew close, Nick…_ ”  Had he not had his ear right next to the hick’s mouth, he would’ve thought it was a trick of his weary mind, a figment of his imagination.  But as it was now, he’d heard those words loud and clear.  No room for misinterpretation, no room for alternatives.  And the way Ellis’ fingers gently pried the blanket away from him, almost lovingly redraping both blankets – his own as well as the one Nick was holding onto – into a warm, cosy cocoon around them… it was sweet, and loving, and yet there was a heat in every movement, a hidden subtext, a hint of ideas and hopes and wishes, the faintest trace of desire dawning on the horizon.  “…Ah mean it, Nick.”, Ellis said, and he sounded as serious as he had before, his voice not wavering anymore.  Nick knew in that instant that he had admitted it to himself, that Ellis had given into the feeling.

That made it easier for him.

“…I’m glad for that, Ellis.”, Nick merely said, moving to hold the blankets around them just as Ellis had placed them, to secure them as the two men snuggled against each other, sharing comfort, blankets, body heat and a need that grew between them with every heartbeat, a need that’d maybe someday lead to more than this, more than just a light embrace.  
But not that night.  Not yet.


	2. Slipping and falling (Kiss, Pyrocest)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel Dantan of RED is madly in love with his fellow Pyro, Samantha Tennant of BLU. There's a few reasons why they're not together - they're both in meaningful relationships, for one thing, and neither of them want to ruin what they have with their partners. But at times, it's hard. Sometimes, all it takes is one slip-up, one fall.
> 
> One kiss...
> 
> (This Pyrocest features two of my Pyro OCs, Gabriel Dantan and Samantha Tennant, both from 'Like a bolt of lightning'. For more background on them, go check that story out - it's fully posted over on deviantart! A full chapter list can be found on http://shade-duelist.deviantart.com )

_…hahh… …hahhhh… …ahhh… …hnnn… …h-hehh…_

“Mmmmphrmmmmn!!”  Clad in a blue fireproofed suit, she walked the field after battle.  The fight had long since ceased, and she wondered where her colleague could’ve wandered off to.  It couldn’t be far, his boyfriend – Billy Jameson, his team’s Scout – had said he’d seen the sniper hit him with his bow-and-arrow combination, and that the fireaxe-armed man had limped off after that, out of the line of fire.  But after the battle, he hadn’t come in for dinner and he wasn’t in their room, and Billy had worried, coming to her for help.  Which brought Samantha Tennant, Pyrotechnician for Builder’s League United, here, in search of her colleague.

_…h-ahhh… …ahhh… …nnnnngh… …ehh… …ehehe…_

“MMMMPHRMMMMN!!!”, she called out again, now louder and more worried.  It wasn’t like her friend and colleague to just run off, no matter the issues he was still struggling with.  If he’d been feeling the urge to start fires again, he would’ve told her.

_…ahh… …ahhh-hah… …hhhhhahhhh… …mnnnnn…_

With one fell swoop, she pulled off her gas mask and called out to him again, her voice sounding louder without the air filter in front of her mouth.

“Gabriel!!”

And this time, she got an answer, a faint groan from the right.

_“…nnnn…”_   She rushed over to see her colleague sitting there, against a rock, the tracks in the sand leading up to his hiding place telltale of how he’d gotten there, as was the sand on his nonresponsive legs and the bloodsmears on the ground.  However, despite how pale he was and how utterly beaten up he looked, he still managed a smile as soon as she came into sight.  “…Sam, ma belle… why’d they send the lovely damsel to come rescue the knight, huh?”

“God, Gabriel, you look like you’ve been struck by… by everything…”, she answered, shaking her head.  And to her infinite surprise, he shook his head as well.

“Nah, just a goddamn arrow, it’s stickin’ somewhere in my lower back.  Tell that espèce de connard Theo that he’d better fuckin’ sleep lightly from now on-“

“Seriously, Gabe, you’ve got an arrow in your lower back?”, Sam said, sounding nonplussed – and her surprise quickly turned to shock when her colleague turned over onto his side slowly, displaying the arrow that indeed sat lodged squarely in the middle of his back.  “Fucking hell, Gabriel-“

“J’sais, j’sais… I know, Sammy, I know.  …’Course Billy sent you ‘cause he knew no one can carry someone my size, and he couldn’t find no one from our own team to come out here lookin’ for me with him.  He expects you to kill me, Sammy, ma chère, and send me back to respawn.”

“…Like hell I’m going to kill you, Gabriel…”, she said, looking him over and then moving quickly, crouching down by his side and pulling the arrow out.  The wound bled minimally – which was good, because she’d have a thing or two to say to Theo if that arrow’d had barbs – but clear liquid did seep from it, causing her to quickly pull him upright and against her, draping his arm over her shoulders and wrapping her own arm around his torso to drag him along.  And about halfway back to the base, Gabriel seemed to muster up the strength from somewhere to try and use his legs again, which ended up speeding up their trek back to the base.

“…Shit, RED side’s all dark…”, Gabriel said, frowning in between his pained grimaces, causing Samantha to look at her friend in disbelief.

“Come on, you can’t seriously think about not waking your medic up, I’m sure doctor Hartmann-“

“You don’t know doc Hardass like I do, ‘kay, Sammy?  …look…”, he added with a sigh, rubbing the cold sweat off his brow and easing the tension slightly out of his face, “…your medic’s kind of a maniac too, right?  On the field?  Well, doc Hardass is like that all the time.  I get the fuckin’ creeps from him all the damn time.  Not to mention he might kill me if I wake him up now…”

“…I know doctor Hartmann’s not the most kind guy, but…”  She sighed in the end and motioned for the other side of the compound.  “Come on, we’ll check if doctor Steinheim’s still up, and if he isn’t, I know the basics of how to operate his medigun…”

 

“…Zamantha, weil I am glad you came to get me… vot haz Archie said about you going out to look for Gabriel in ze dark?”, the BLU medic said as he switched the medigun off, looking at the RED pyro’s back in the fading glow of the healing device.   True to his irritable nature, the tall man turned to his side again with a pained grunt and looked his ‘enemy’ in the eye.

“Hey, man, I’m right fuckin’ here, cut her some goddamn slack!  Archie knows he ain’t got nothin’ to be afraid of from me, I know she’s his an’-“

“And Gabriel is my friend, Siegfried, so please…”  The medic shrugged and threw up his hands in a defensive gesture, and he motioned for the RED pyro.

“Vell, ze damage vosn’t extensive, but I vouldn’t suggest volking far on your own.  You und Zamantha are excused from ze battles today and tomorrow.”  He then waved a hand in front of him, drawing up his nose ostensibly and rolling his eyes.  “Und I vould suggest a shower, but zhat vill be-“

“Okay, thank you, Siegfried.  I’ll get Gabe home safely.”  She threw her fellow Pyro his suit again, but he drew up his nose for it.

“Sainte Mère, your medic’s right, Sammy, I stink like rife cheese.  Fuck… could’ya do me a solid an’ get Billy to come an’ give me a shower?  Tell him to bring me some clothes too, I ain’t walkin’ through the base on my goddamn own.”  Sam grinned and nodded.

“We’ll go to Billy right now…”  However, when they wanted to go through the door separating the BLU part of the compound from the RED part, they found that it’d been locked.  “Oh, what the bloody hell…?”, Sam said, looking at the door handle that simply wouldn’t budge with sudden and not-so-subtle ire, and Gabriel was quick to react to her frustration.

“…Hey now, Sammy, it ain’t that big of a deal, but… phew…”  He looked a bit paler, Sam noticed, and she sat him down on a chair in the separate medbay laying between the two bases.  “…I’ll try and enter from the outside-“, she started, but Gabriel shook his head.

“…Fuck, I just wanna rest now, Sammy… n-ne t’inquiètes pas, ma chère, I’m just a bit tired…”

“Tired my ass, Gabe – you got shot, you sat out there bleeding like a stuck pig for hours, you just got healed, you didn’t even eat or drink…  And you smell like roadkill…”  Suddenly, her eyes lit up and she smiled again.  “I know – wait here.”, she said, dashing off, leaving Gabriel to sit alone in the dark of the base, nothing but blinking lights to break the monotony, until he heard her soft footsteps again and noticed her coming in again with two sandwiches, a bottle of lemonade, a stack of clothes and three large towels, as well as soap, shaving cream, a razor and a comb.  “…Well, in here we’ll be out of the way of both our teams, and we can go ‘round the outside when you feel better.  In the meantime, there’s a shower here so you can wash up already.  I’ll just sit outside, okay?”

“Can I eat first?”, Gabriel asked, blushing slightly as he felt his entire body grow positively ravenous at the sight and smell of the sandwiches, and as Sam rolled her eyes and gave him the sandwiches, he wasted no time.  The first sandwich was gone so quickly he thought he’d dropped it for a second, but though he ate at a slower pace the second sandwich followed the first faster than usual, washed down by the bottle of lemonade.  The RED Pyro could feel his body start to re-energise, the sugary drink and the savory sandwiches revitalizing him enough to feel less dizzy.  “…Okay, so where’s this shower…”, he asked, and Sam pointed him in the right direction.

“Door on the other side.  It’s not as big as the communal showers in here, but it’s more than enough.  Watch your step though, the floor gets slippery.”  She winked at him.  “…I’ll be right outside, waiting for you, allright?”

“Fine with me, chère amie…”, he admitted with a grin, moving inside.

_Soap, hot water… man, so hot, it’s stuffy… hard to breathe… wow, the lights, when did they start dimming? …mmm… mnnnn…_

“Gabriel?!”  The soft, slightly worried voice came through the darkness, and Gabriel lifted his head – the very gesture caused him to realize what had happened, and he opened his eyes.

_Oh my god, Sammy.  Oh my god.  …oh non.  Merde._

Sam sat in front of him, naked, her body growing slick and shiny with water as she sat directly under the spray, shielding him partially from the rain – she’d taken the time to take her own suit off before rushing into the showers, he realized with a shock.   But it wasn’t the fact that she’d had enough time to get undressed that had him blushing, nor the fact that she was undressed.  Gabriel could feel his blood rush to his groin, the mere sight of the woman he longed for so painfully much enough to arouse him almost instantly. 

_Merde de diable, pas maintenant… oh lord, no, stop, stop…_

“U-uhm…”  Sam’s blush, the fact that she suddenly moved back from him a bit – well, how could she _not_ notice, she practically sat face to face with him… even now, she still sat so close he could practically feel  her body heat…

_I can’t resist ya like this, Sammy… please…_

“Please…”, he whimpered, and Sam sighed.

“Gabriel, I… it’s okay, I’ll just… I shouldn’t have come in here in the first place, but you were gone so long and…”, she stammered as she backed away, getting up again.

Slipping.

Falling.

Gabriel sat up and caught her before she fell onto the floor – she still cut her knee on one of the bathroom tiles, but he guessed the bruises and cuts would’ve been much more severe if she’d actually fallen completely – and for a second they looked at each other.

_Merde, Samantha, mon ange.  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._

The kiss was heated, needy, fiery, and it consumed him.  He gave himself up to the woman of his dreams, eyes closed and heart beating out of control, and to his surprise and infinite joy she gave back in kind, eagerly following his lead.  Their arms wrapped around each other’s body, pressing them closer – the ache inside him grew and raged, demanding satisfaction, and he moaned her name into their kiss.

But that drew her out of her trance, seemingly, and she pulled back from the kiss.

“…S-shit, Gabe, we… I can’t… Archie…”  Her hand flew to her stomach – Gabriel knew that she and the scout were trying to have a baby, and every time he thought of their efforts it felt painful and sweet at the same time.  Including this time.

_I can.  I will._

“…I know, I know, Sammy, I’m so fuckin’ sorry…  I’ll, uh… I’ll…”  He didn’t say what he would, and he didn’t need to: she nodded, getting up again, this time holding the wall for support, and slowly wound her way back to where the towels lay, taking one to dry herself off most likely.  Gabriel leaned his forehead against the wall, willing the visions of Samantha’s naked body away and failing – and upon realizing he failed, he let one hand drop to his erection, stroking himself, encouraging the visions instead.  His breathing grew ragged when he conjured up how eager she’d responded to the kiss, his blood turned to liquid fire when he recalled the feeling of her body against his.  His entire body grew tense when he summoned the thought of actually touching her, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her beautiful though scarred breasts, the swell of her stomach, her thighs, her privates…

_…I have to…_

Gabriel Dantan came undone with a muffled sob, the extacy of release tempered by the fond reminder that only in thoughts would Samantha ever be his.


	3. Enlighten me (First time, Destiel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after the events of Season 5 Episode 3 (Free to Be You and Me).
> 
> Castiel is the youngest of the angel host, the innocent one, the least knowledgeable. So much of Earth is new to him, as is the concept of sex. Or, for that matter, needs, such as the need that his vessel seems to feel. Dean Winchester's attempt at showing him the joys of physical relations with another were not really successful, but that doesn't mean he isn't curious. His vessel clearly shares his affection for the Righteous Man, be it on another level than he's used to, and Dean did say he was alone...

“I spent so much time worryin’ about the son of a bitch…”   Dean said it as the two of them drove away, leaving Raphael in the middle of the circle of burning oil.  Castiel’s borrowed heart was pounding out of control with residual adrenaline from the excitement, the body of Jimmy Novak feeling alive with energy suddenly even despite the fact that it never felt tired or unenergetic.  Castiel marveled at the surplus of vivacity he experienced.

And when he looked at Dean when he said ‘and you’re not even that much fun’, the energy only mounted.  He knew he cared for his charge, cared for the man that he’d liberated from the clutches of Hell… but the sudden feeling he got, of flying a million miles an hour yet without the strain on his wings… it was new, different, and yet…

“…But now that I’m alone… Hell, I’m happy.”  The moment Dean said that, the second those words left his lips, Castiel felt himself being pulled back, into Heaven, with his brethren.  In that instant, he felt the pain of being pulled from the other man’s side and he knew the nature of that restless energy.

Dean Winchester.

Love, of course, was not an alien emotion to angels.  Sometimes, two angels would find each other and their graces would resonate, and then they’d stay by the other’s side for eternity.  However, it was exceedingly rare, and Heaven had only ever known of two such pairs: Sariela, one of the youngest angels, older than Castiel but by a twist of fate, and Raphael… and Corianna and Lucifer, a unison of grace and purpose that had ended abruptly when Lucifer Fell and Corianna chose mortality, living a hollow life among men in an attempt to have an end to the loneliness and the void where once belonging and purpose had been.  Humans had the same concept, only they named it ‘soul mates’ and could not recognize the resonating of souls for what it meant until they found that their rightful soul mate shared their heaven with them, an eternity of unison and joy…

However, between humans and angels, it was considered impossible.  An angel’s grace and a human soul could not unite the way two angels could melt their graces together.  Besides, Castiel mused as he moved among the angels, most of them ignoring him, the energy that he’d felt was more carnal, more basic.  He was far enough inside the mind of what had once been Jimmy Novak to know what it was that drove this energy.  Need, want, lust, hunger for physical satisfaction.  Something that wasn’t foreign even to angels.  God had given them a drive to procreate, and the union did carry a sense of satisfaction with it as well, but not enough to create a hunger.  Like with food, angels were above needs like that – but humans, of course, were not.  To Castiel, the sudden surge of need was foreign, known only from stories told to him by other angels and lessons learnt from dusty tomes – too young to have ever considered procreation, and too unassuming and unimportant to have been considered by another angel to indulge in such frivolous activities, he was in many ways new to what he felt.  But it’d been several long months since he’d taken possession of Jimmy Novak’s body again, so Castiel had to ponder why it struck him now.  And oddly enough, back at the brothel Dean had taken him to, that energy had been absent.  Only just then, with Dean sitting so close to him and saying that he was alone-

 _Saying that he was alone._ Of course.

Castiel beat his wings again and returned to Earth once more, as darkness blanketed the lands.

…

“…Cas?”  Dean sounded surprised when the angel appeared again in front of his motel room – then again, he had every right to be, Castiel mused, since he had left abruptly before.  “…What brings you here?”

“…There has been a… development.  I needed to come see you right away.”, the angel said in his usual gravelly voice – when Dean invited him inside and hurried to turn off the television, he felt his vessel stir again, a feeble but somehow still clear reaction to the pornographic images displayed in front of him as Dean seemed to want to memorize the scene in front of him for future reference.  But then the screen faded to black in the blink of an eye and the hunter turned to him again.

“…yeah, sorry ‘bout that, a man needs more than sleep an’ food alone sometimes, you know…”  He seemed to muse on that for a second and then shook his head, adding: “…Well, maybe you don’t see that, huh?  Take my word on it-“

“Dean, there’s a question I must ask.” Rigid as always, both in his stance as in his pattern of thought, Castiel did not deviate from his goal for the night.  But suddenly, when looking into Dean’s green eyes, an alien emotion hit him.  Something restrained him from outright asking the hunter about something that might be delicate to him.  And that same something made him ask another question entirely.  “…When you took me… to that… place…”  He spoke with great care and a residual measure of dislike – he’d  called it a ‘den of iniquity’ when they were there, and that was putting it mildly, but in the face of the things he was considering, it wasn’t that bad of a place after all.  “…why did you?”

“Cas, you told me you’d die, I wanted to make sure you died happy, man!”, Dean said as if it was the most normal matter on earth.  Castiel’s borrowed heart surged with a higher emotion, tingled with a more basal need, and the angel hurried to speak up again to resolve both issues post haste.

“…You wish to see me happy even if in death?”, he questioned, and Dean took a second to untangle the words, simplify them to his more earthly terms, and then nodded.

“Yeah, man, you’re a good guy an’ you deserve good things.”  Dean paused when the angel looked at him, seemingly about to speak, but nothing else came and Dean continued: “…I mean, you know I took you to that brothel ‘cause… well, you said you were gonna ‘sit here quietly’ and there’s no way a ma- well…”  Dean scratched the back of his head, and suddenly Castiel realized something.  Dean was nervous.

Dean Winchester, the man that had tortured a demon without even blinking, was _nervous_.

“Dean, there’s no reason to fear judgement.”, he said, his voice grave and his words slow as usual, and Dean’s eyes, for a moment, spelled defiance.  But then they softened again and slowly, one of the corners of his mouth turned up into a glimmer of a smile.

“…Well, allright, if you’re sure those angel ears don’t mind.  I don’t know what it’s like for angels.  I mean, I haven’t ever seen your true form, just… y’know, Jimmy.  Lore says shit about six thousand wings and four heads and bodies of vapor an’ mist-“

“An angel’s true form is… terrifying to all that are not angels.”, Castiel readily admitted, and Dean hesitated for just a second before speaking further.

“Well, yeah, but even you guys know something intimate like… well, uh, sex, I guess.  I mean, you said so.”

“Yes, yes, there is a basic need to procreate even for angels, only… not like it is for humans.  It is… fulfilling.  But it is not the source of… hunger, as it is for you.”

“Heh…”, Dean said, nodding slowly.  And then he paused again, pondering on something before he nodded more firmly.  “Yeah, like with Famine – you were only affected ‘cause of Jimmy, you said angels didn’t need to eat.  So… it’s the same with sex?  Cloud-seeding’s like… boring to you guys?”

“It’s viewed as a means to an end, not the source of… wonder… it is to you, yes.”, Castiel admitted, and Dean whistled, leaning against the wall.

“Man, you guys are missin’ out big time.”  There it was again, that sudden hesitation, that sense of shyness that didn’t fit with the hunter in front of him, Castiel mused.  And again he spoke up.

“I think I am missing the point you were trying to make, Dean.”  Dean straightened and walked to the bed, but where he’d probably drop onto it usually now he veered away again and walked back to the wall, to one of the chairs standing off to the side, sitting down on it.

“Uh, yeah, the point… uh, the point bein’ that even angels should know what it’s like to feel that kinda thing, an’ there was no way I’d let you die without that.  …well, you didn’t die, so, guess I didn’t need to worry anyway, huh?”  The smile Dean gave was fake – Castiel saw it with some surprise, because it wasn’t like his usual fake smiles.  Normally they looked pained, but this smile didn’t.  This smile looked hesitant, careful, as if what he was hiding didn’t hurt.

“Well, that is a good point.  And-“  Dean licked his lips and Castiel got sidetracked.  The nervous gesture made his eyes trail over Dean’s mouth – chapped lips, shining with a thin layer of saliva from the tongue that had traced them nervously, slightly parted for a breath.  Castiel could feel it.

And the hunger he’d felt before returned, multiplied.

“…Dean, I… would it be okay if I… imposed?”, Castiel heard himself asking, and Dean nodded.

“Cas, you never ‘impose’.  Just… anything, man…”  The angel could hear the other man’s heart, hear it racing, feel the pounding, the sudden excitement.  It was just like before, just like when they’d been in the car, only this time nothing had happened to provoke that rush of adrenaline.  Or at least, nothing had happened yet.  “…Anything.”, Dean repeated, and the words that he had barely held back – _‘for you’_ – hung heavy on the air like a cloud.  The air became hot, humid, stagnant, oppressive, and Castiel sighed.

“…It’s much to ask, and you may find it… offensive.”, he said, and Dean shook his head.  “You seem to value your personal space a lot and this-“

“Cas, just… look, the personal space thing, it’s… you come swingin’ by sometimes when I’m in the bathroom or… or eatin’ or somethin’.  A man needs to do some things without, you know, bystanders.”  Suddenly Dean pushed himself up from the chair and walked over to him, and Castiel’s breath froze in his throat, the desire pulsing through him raw and demanding, and though his heart pounded his throat felt constricted.  And yet he spoke.

“I wish for you to… enlighten me.”

“…Wait, what?”  Dean seemed surprised by the choice of words, or perhaps by the message, and Castiel looked away, suddenly feeling every bit like the youngest and the most ignorant again.  His human heart hurt, but the sudden shame and that feeling of being rejected stung in his grace like thorns cutting into him.

“…Never mind.”  He rose from the bed again, intending to leave Dean be, but the hunter was quicker: before he could extend his wings and lift himself into a different plane of existence, he felt a hand grip his wrist and he looked at the man that held him in place.

“Cas, don’t be like that… enlighten you how?”

“…I wish to learn how it feels, this… dimension of physical relations with another.”  The silence was absolute, and suddenly Castiel couldn’t stop speaking.  “…The concept intrigues me and though things at… that place… didn’t work out, I wish to experience the act, so perhaps there is some other way that-“

“Cas?”, Dean said, looking at him as though he’d grown an extra head, and the angel grew quiet again, waiting for the hunter to berate him as he sometimes did when he behaved inappropriate to human societal norms, but instead of a harsh reinstatement of order, Dean surprised him.  “…Just shut up, man…”, he said softly, closing the distance between them and kissing him, hesitantly.

And in that moment, something in Castiel’s mind clicked and his hands found themselves on Dean Winchester’s upper arms, feeling the fabric of his shirt with heightened senses.

“Dean, I… I don’t understand-“, Castiel started again, but Dean cut him off with an impatient gesture, moving the both of them so they could sit side by side on the bed.

“Lesson number one, Cas: it’s not about understandin’, it’s about feelin’.  Close your eyes and enjoy…”  He kissed Castiel again, this time with no hesitation whatsoever, and despite the angel’s attempts to not close his eyes, not when he couldn’t get enough of the sight of Dean looking so thrilled, they closed and his other senses took over without a hitch.  He could feel the slight roughness of Dean’s chapped lips, smell the scent of whisky and cheeseburgers around him, taste them on his lips, hear the hurried breaths they both took through their noses as the kiss deepened and a whole new world of sensations opened to him.  Hands lost their way on Dean’s shoulders, then up to his head and that silky tangle of hair; his borrowed body pressed close to Dean’s, trembling slightly in the onslaught of need and wonder and _love_ and _perfection_ the angel felt, and both men sank onto the bed, no longer able to sit, allowing gravity to bring them closer together than even their arms and legs could ever manage.  It was like learning how to fly, but without wings; it was like finding his vessel, but without possessing the other man.

It was like coming home.

“Mmmm…”, he muttered into the kiss, and Dean pulled back slowly, opening his own eyes to look at him.  “…Dean, why-“

“Cas, does it matter?”, Dean muttered, pressing his lips to Castiel’s jaw, and the joy he felt was all his – he could feel the body he’d ‘borrowed’ respond to the kisses, eagerly even, the fact that it was another man giving the affections seemingly unimportant just as it meant nothing to Cas…  But the kiss meant so much, so very much… it overwhelmed the angel, frightening him.

Suddenly he became aware of the thin, almost fragile thread connecting him and Dean – fuelled by their kisses and strengthened by the sudden heavy feeling in the chest of his vessel – and he grabbed hold of the hunter even tighter, holding him even closer, kissing him even more fiercely back, out of sheer fear that that thread would break and they would part again.  Castiel didn’t ever want to part from Dean again.

“Dean, it matters.  It matters to me.  I wish to know why you’re-“

“Cas, come on…”, Dean said in between kisses on his jaw.  “…Let’s keep the sappy part where I tell ya I love ya, have loved ya for ages now, and want you to never leave anymore… let’s keep that for afterwards, okay? “  His kisses started to move downward again, following the feeling of Castiel’s vessel’s pulse in his neck, and the very first kiss had Castiel feel something besides the constricting, heavy feeling in his chest or the fragile connection between the both of them that was still picking up in intensity.

He felt a fire in his borrowed body, radiating into his very grace – a need spreading like wildfire, carving a new path into the unknown, and he shivered against Dean.  He felt so needful and yet so young, on fire with an urge he knew nothing about, kissing a man that he wanted above all else to please, to enjoy, to capture the essence of, but not knowing how to bring the man the same pleasure and enjoyment as he knew he would be feeling…

“Don’t worry, Cas, I’ll show you how an’ what…”, Dean muttered in between kisses, finally reaching Castiel’s shoulder and tugging at the angel’s backwards-knotted tie.  It was as if he’d said what he wanted, what he needed Cas to do, clearly and loudly, because Castiel was already busy pulling his tie loose when Dean shook his head.  “N-no, keep the tie on, I… kinda like it…”

“If you’d enjoy this more that way…”, Castiel said, moving his hands away from his tie and starting to unbutton his shirt instead.  Dean chuckled and nodded – it was a heated sound more than an actual mirthful laugh from the man, Castiel noticed before those calloused mechanic’s hands joined his own in the efforts of undressing him and he became singularly focused on the task at hand again.  “…Dean…”, he said softly, the one word sounding conflicted even more than it had before, and the hunter nodded, bringing one of Castiel’s hands to his own shirt, once more guessing perfectly what was on the angel’s mind.  Soon, Castiel’s other hand joined the first, and before he even realized it, Dean’s shirt was unbuttoned, the T-shirt underneath pulled up, and his fingers brushed the scarred stomach of the hunter just as Dean had his own shirt open and his hands on his chest.

The distinction between his sensations of emotional joy and the sensations of physical satisfaction coming from his vessel was fading so swiftly and so definitively – if Castiel were still aloof enough to notice the sudden blurring of the distinction between what he felt and what the man that had once been Jimmy Novak felt, he’d probably muse how odd it was that a human could have that effect on him – and Castiel’s mind was reeling, his emotions swaying and shifting and boiling like a stormy sea.  And from the look of things it was the same for Dean – for when Castiel pushed Dean’s T-shirt up further and his hands found their way to Dean’s bare chest, tracing the outline of the anti-possession tattoo he had, causing the hunter to shiver, those green eyes flew open and they showed such a multitude of emotions that the angel’s borrowed heart seemed to freeze.

“Am I doing this right?”, Castiel asked softly, no shame in his voice though his eyes said otherwise, and Dean nodded.

“Y-yeah, you just have… you have no idea how good it feels when you touch me, Cas… or when you kiss me…”  The latter part sounded as a plea – for more, for new sensations, new touches and kisses, and Castiel was eager to give and to receive.  He placed kisses along Dean’s jaw, hesitant at first but when the other hunter whispered his name hotly against his neck, his hands halting in their endeavor of pushing three layers of clothing off, his kisses grew bolder, more heated, until they matched the hunter’s ferocity and need, and he found that kissing the other man filled him with a satisfaction that almost paralleled the sense of fulfillment being kissed by him gave.  Almost.

“Dean… show me more…”, he asked, his voice sounding sultry even to himself, but the hunter smiled and nodded, allowing the both of them to sit up again – and as soon as the angel sat up, Dean’s hands slid from his chest to his shoulders and down his arms, pushing off the trenchcoat and the suit jacket and the shirt he had on, the night air feeling cold on his skin except for where Dean’s hands rested, trembling as the hunter waited for Castiel to do the same to him.  Slowly, like a child discovering one of the joyous ‘wonders’ of the world, the angel peeled the layers of clothing off the hunter – two shirts and the T-shirt – and then they both pressed their bodies close again at the same time, their naked chests and stomachs pressing together like magnetized, and just the feel of skin on skin made Dean moan.

“…Oh god, Cas-“  He paused, suddenly unsure, and Castiel looked at him.  “…I, uh… probably shouldn’t say somethin’ like that at a time like this, huh?  N-not with you, anyway… I mean-“

“Dean, “ Castiel spoke with his head tilted to the side a bit, feeling a pleasant tingle in his being that tugged the corners of his mouth up and made him pull the hunter toward him again.  “I think my father is far enough away not to be bothered by one man using his name.  And since he did create all humans, saying his name when you feel satisfied can hardly be considered ‘using his name in vain’.”

“…I get it, Cas, now shut up an’…”  The rest of his words turned into a long, muffled, happy moan when Castiel guessed them and preemptively pressed their lips together, kissing Dean just as he’d been kissed before: deeply, invitingly, opening himself up to the hunter.  And it was an invitation Dean didn’t hesitate to use, for next thing Cas knew they were back on the bed, this time side by side, Dean’s hands on his back and his arm, legs intertwined, kissing each other with a need that made Castiel feel both apprehensive and eager, both excited and shy.  Between angels, he’d been told it was… subdued.  Between humans, he’d been told it was messy but passionate.  This was in between – hot, heavy, slow, intense.  Dean made his skin feel like it was on fire wherever his fingertips passed, but at the same time the touches were tender and so unlike the strength that lay in those hands, hands that were made to hold guns and fix cars.  Dean’s kisses were deep and demanding, but at the same time the soft whimpers that managed to slip from between their lips were more pleading and light.  In the end, Castiel concluded that it was passion, like in the books he’d read, like in the stories he’d heard, some of them from the very same man that was now arching into his own touches, eager for more of them, more of him.  Passion.

Desire on every level of existence.

“Dean… you promised more…”, he voiced, and it was as if Dean had been waiting for him to say that, because now the hunter’s kisses trailed away again, back to his jaw and then down his neck as before, only now they moved swifter, and they didn’t have to stop because there was clothing in the way.  Castiel sighed happily when Dean’s lips brushed his shoulder, his eyes closing to intensify the sensation and to let the sound of Dean’s hurried, now panting breaths come through all the clearer.  But it was only when he felt the increased rhythm of rise and fall of the body he’d taken over, only when the in- and outflow of air into borrowed lungs became clear, that he realized that Dean wasn’t the only one out of breath.  He was breathing more rapidly too, his vessel clearly deep into the haze of sexual excitement.

And as soon as he realized, he knew he hadn’t noticed because his grace was also overcast by that same blissful haze of enjoyment, though less physical.  The joy of bringing Dean pleasure made his entire being shimmer like starlight and pulse like a heartbeat – his heartbeat, quickly rising to join Dean’s heartbeat.  He placed a few kisses on Dean’s shoulder as well, a soft contented sigh rising from his lips, but then…  Dean kissed further down, his lips moving slowly from his shoulder to his chest, and the angel tensed.  He could feel the onslaught of heat, the almost electrical surges of lust coursing through Jimmy’s body, but that heat was not transmitted to his inner being – or it was, but something else invaded his mind.  The sense of uncertainty returned with a vengeance, it seemed.  So he tensed and spoke, his voice wavering again.

“D-dean…”  Uncertainty suddenly tainted his words, even to him that much was clear – and Dean detached his lips from his chest just long enough to speak a short reassurance.

“Just lemme make you feel good, Cas… trust me…”  Castiel hesitated maybe just a second, but when Dean kissed over his heart – where humans, the angel knew, believed the soul to be nestled – it felt even more intimate than it had even before.  In that second, he realized what Dean wanted above all else.  Dean wanted more than just physical completion, he wanted spiritual unity, even if for a moment.  More than to touch his body and feel the heat of his kisses and caresses, the hunter wanted to touch his soul, feel the warmth of his grace.

He opened up to it, even more so when Dean’s hands caressed downward, to his stomach, drawing lazy circles on his abdomen and causing the muscles there to shiver slightly as tension entered them.  Not the stressful kind of tension that the angel had gotten used to feeling, but a more enjoyable anticipation.  “…oh yeah…”, Dean murmured, lips pressed against his sternum, moving down, and when they reached where Dean’s hands had rested before, the angel gasped.  The barrier between the physical satisfaction his vessel was experiencing and the emotional enjoyment that filled him up like an overflowing chalice fell away and pure pleasure rushed through him like a flood, dragging all reservations and doubts with it until only the rising tide of fulfillment remained.

“Dean… oh…”  It was spoken needfully, a demand and a plea and a promise all at once, and the hunter grinned.

“…Cas, damn it, you sayin’ my name like that makes me freakin’ _lose myself_ …”  But suddenly, when he moved back up, his hands on Castiel’s slacks to unbutton them, the angel didn’t need any exhortation to kiss him again, fiery and yet still with a longing for more, a hunger for anything and everything the hunter still had left to give, even if he still didn’t realize fully what that entailed.  But he had a feeling Dean wanted him to mirror his own actions of before, and was proven right when he moved his hands down the hunter’s front and the man groaned lightly.  “Damn it, Cas… that’s… ahhh yeah…”

And then Dean’s hands finally managed their task of unbuttoning his pants and he pushed them down, and Castiel looked down to find Dean looking up at him, grinning, clearly excited by the level of arousal in Ji- in him, he corrected, because at that point Jimmy Novak’s body might as well have been his true form what with the way the feeling of Dean’s kisses transmitted to his deepest core and sent his grace spinning, swirling, making him dizzy.

“Well, aren’t you lookin’ happy with me now…”, Dean said smugly, sounding as if he reveled in his clear and abundant victory – like the very act of arousing him was cause for celebration – and Castiel’s reply was heated all the more because of that quality in the other man’s voice.

“I wish to make you just as ‘happy’, Dean, with me.  But you have to… show me, and then let me.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ll show ya, Cas…”, came the answer as Dean shifted slightly in his hold, his legs becoming positively restless as they moved, and then they stilled again and Castiel could feel one of Dean’s feet, and he realized the hunter’s shoes were no longer on his feet, that he’d kicked off his shoes.  “…You too, Cas, just… push’em off…”, Dean spoke softly, letting his hands trail up the angel’s back, his lips planting more kisses on Castiel’s stomach, venturing slightly lower, and shivers of delight ran through him now.

“…Dean, h-help…”, the angel pleaded, and one of the hunter’s hands moved to untie shoelaces blindly.  From there, it was easy for Castiel to kick off his shoes, which in turn seemed to prompt Dean to grab one of his hands and move it to the waistline of his button-up jeans, wordlessly communicating his desire to go further and shed more clothes.  A feat which Castiel would gladly perform for him.  The task wasn’t as easy as he expected – blindly unbuttoning the denim vestment was harder than some of the battles the two of them had fought through together – and yet it was far easier than he’d even hoped for.  Within seconds – long, agonizing seconds in which both he and Dean breathed hard and voiced their need with soft whispers of each other’s name – he got Dean’s jeans pushed down his narrow hips and well around the man’s knees, something which Dean had already done for his own pants, and slowly they both wriggled their legs until both their pants were on the floor behind the bed and their bare legs rubbed together.   And, when they pressed close to the other again, Castiel felt…  He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t voice it, so he just moaned.

“Deeeaaaan…”  Upon hearing the angel moan, Dean saw fit to grin and hook his thumbs under the waistband of Castiel’s underwear.

“Mmm, Cas, do that again, man… moan for me like that… it’s amazin’…”  He slowly pulled Castiel’s underwear down, bringing a score of memories of lessons learnt from his brothers about physical arousal in humans and how it somehow centered to that area ‘down there’.  But when Dean’s hand wrapped around the erect organ that was bared to the both of them the moment his underwear was pulled to his upper thighs, those lessons were a distant memory.  Theory was irrelevant because what Dean’s hand was doing was nothing short of heavenly, perfect, and the shudder of delight that ran through the vessel was all Castiel, all his wonder and joy and extatic indulgence of such a new need.  It took maybe one or two strokes for him to indulge Dean and moan out the hunter’s name again.  His own hands moved slowly to mirror the actions: they placed themselves on either side of Dean’s hips and moved down slowly, fingertips pushing themselves under his boxers’ elastic when they encountered it, softly pushing down that last item of clothing the hunter still wore and meanwhile marveling on how many scars the man had even there.  Now Dean was the one that moaned out.  “Oh fuck, _Caaassss…_ ”

“Dean, I still need to touch you…”, Castiel said, some measure of his normal failure to fully understand human nature shining through, but the hunter wasn’t oblivious to the heated tone and the slightly teasing note in those words, and he answered in kind.

“…God help me, Cas, I swear I’m gonna come as soon as those soft angel hands wrap around me…”  That made Castiel hesitate to touch him, a part of him afraid that there might be truth in Dean’s words – fortunately, it wasn’t a large part of him, and when he did touch Dean, the most remarkable that took place was a sharp inhale and a curse held back.  “J-je- _oh Cas… C-caaaaasssssss…_   ohhh fuuuuuck…”  Dean’s hips twitched, right at the moment Castiel stroked him again, this time less tentative.  And then again, and again, working in time with Dean’s twitches and shivers and moans as if doing his utmost best to provoke more of them, to draw them from the hunter’s lips like luring fish with bait.  “…Ohhhh… y-yeah, your _hands_ , oh _Christ_ , ohhh _lord yes… C-caaaaas…_ ”  Of course, the hunter had to repay him in kind, and Castiel’s strokes lost some of their purposefulness when Dean’s calloused palm drew moans from him instead.

“Ohhh _D-Deeeeeaaaaaan_ , oh Dean… oh heavens… _ohhhh yessssss…_ ”   And then Dean’s strokes slowed down and Castiel knew that the hunter wanted him to finish last, not out of selfishness but to make sure that he’d enjoy every second of this – he sensed it in Dean and in himself before he even knew what exactly it was that was imprinted in his mind as the most sturdy, solid, wrought-iron truth.  Yet as soon as he knew, he only asked one thing.  One heated question, one passion-fuelled sentence.  “ _Teach me how to get you lost in pleasure, Dean…_ ”

“…Ohhh god, j-just… Cas, just… keep strokin’ me and kissin’ me and touchin’ me and _ohh shiiiiiiit that’s so good…_ ”, he said when Castiel decided to break up his little speech, the angel’s hand slowly moving over Dean’s heated flesh, his lips dancing over the hunter’s chest, his breath tickling the space over his courageous, warm heart… the heart in which he’d let Castiel…  The angel kept kissing, his lips parting from time to time to suckle lightly on the flesh beneath, and all the while he kept his hand moving, up and down Dean’s shaft, drawing moan after moan from the hunter.  Whenever he looked up at Dean, it was to witness progressing degrees of bliss – Dean’s brow creased, his eyes fluttering shut or looking back at him, the green irises shining like emeralds with an inner fire, and his lips were dry but by no means did they look any softer… and then, Dean’s hands moved away from Castiel’s own length to grip the angel’s shoulders tightly as his hips twitched, eyes closed and breath halting into a sharp gasp, a delightful, almost delirious howl of his name – “ _Caaaaaaaaaaaaassssssss…!!_ ” – and his fluids streaked over his stomach and the angel’s hand.  Castiel timed his strokes with the twitches of Dean’s hips, slowing and finally stopping, letting the hunter catch his breath again.  Then, slowly, he brought his soiled hand up to his face, eyeing the liquid on it with curiosity and reverence.  This was the human means of reproduction.  Angels knew no seed, no sexuality in the sense that humans knew it – for them, reproducing was a matter of will and effort, not of… fluids.  But then Castiel noticed Dean looking at him and he smiled at the hunter, _his_ hunter, while doing what he’d meant to do in the first place: slowly, he licked a bead of the milky substance off his hand, letting the taste get to him before grinning at the man that had so graciously and gracefully supplied him with his seed.

“…I find the taste of you… energetic and strong, Dean, just as you are… just as I’ve grown to-“

Dean kissed him fervently, Castiel’s soiled hand trapped between the two of them and forgotten as their tongues swirled sensuously together, and the angel found something else impressing itself once more into his mind.  Or rather, Dean’s shift brought back the thought that he was still without completion.  He’d learnt how to please but he knew nothing yet of that supreme pleasure that humans were said to engage in, to revel in.  And with it came need – need for that completion, need for the knowledge of every aspect of this newly discovered physical side of his vessel, but above all else… need for Dean.  Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, the only one that he could trust upon to stop the Apocalypse, the man that had bled for him… the man that he shared so much with.

_His._

Ignoring the fire in the pit of his stomach was hard, but Castiel managed to brave the temptation of grinding his pelvis right into Dean’s hand – the hunter still had his hand wrapped around his erection, after all.  Ignoring the sudden possessiveness in his being was impossible, however: Castiel’s hands gripped Dean, holding him close as their lips met again and again, their kisses long and languid and pleading for more… every kiss making it more difficult to keep the reins on his treacherous borrowed body firmly in hand…

But his self-control shattered the moment Dean spoke up again, his voice heated with the afterglow of desire and warmed with that love that had fuelled him so far.

“Now all you gotta do is sit back an’ enjoy, Cas… let me teach you just how _good_ gettin' all physical with someone else can feel…”  And his hand moved – first tentatively, wrapped loosely around his vessel’s still-hard length, but then increasingly more decisive and firm – and his kisses trailed away, over his neck and down to the angel’s chest… and as they reached his vessel’s heart, Castiel moaned.

“ _Deeeaaaaaaaan…oh sweet salvation, D-deeeeaaaaan…_ ” It was everything and anything he’d hoped for, so much more, so much better.  The feeling of Dean’s hand over his length, the hunter’s hot body against his own.

_His heart beating like a war drum, his soul burning so close, oh so close, like the fires of purification… his love so sweet and satisfying that just one taste, one kiss, one night, one lifetime, would never be enough…_

“ _God help me…_ ”, Castiel moaned, feeling at once vulnerable and powerful, eager and shy, hot as magma and cold as ice.  Inside him he could feel a tide swelling, blossoming like a flower, ticking like a time bomb, ready to explode and fill him until he’d be bursting at the seams, but at the same time that moment seemed so far away still, and-

“Mmmmm…”  Dean’s moan broke his contemplations, and the next kiss pushed them away altogether, because the hunter had steadily kissed down to his stomach, pressing his lips against Castiel’s trembling abs, looking at the angel’s vessel’s erection with smug satisfaction as well as light apprehension.  And suddenly, Castiel realized that he wasn’t the only one that was discovering, and he spoke heatedly to the man that now hung halfway across him, legs having slipped until he sat on the ground, his head almost level with his groin that ached and yearned for more, for better, for faster, for _him_.

“D-deeeaaaan… g-go on… teach me more… teach me… _everything… p-please…_ ”  It was not a plea, nor a demand, it was an encouragement, and Dean certainly took it as such if his next actions were to be believed: for his lips did not press again onto Castiel’s stomach, but they wandered directly to his member, kissing it softly.  Castiel had to bite his lip in order to not cry out, and to his surprise the hunter’s name wasn’t the only thing that nearly escaped him.  He’d almost – so very narrowly avoiding it – cried out in Enochian.  And now, somehow, he heard the ringing sound that Dean had to hear as well as the nearly-mental cry he’d held back, both soft and almost like they were imagined rather than heard.

And then Dean kissed his hardened member again, not at all hesitant anymore, and the ringing became louder, and Castiel now found he had to bite his lip to not cry out anyway.  “… _Dean, oh Deeeaaaaan…_ ”, he could hear himself muttering, his voice heated, and the overlay in Enochian – **_‘keh quassaaaaaahiiiiii…’_** – sounded melodical and not nearly as harsh as he’d heard Dean describe it.

Then again, as he felt Dean place yet another heated, heating kiss on his erection, he couldn’t help but wonder if the pleasure he felt had anything to do with that.

“…Oh god, Cas…  Cas, I wanna taste you…”, Dean mumbled, his lips pressed to the sensitive flesh of the angel’s vessel’s manhood so Castiel felt every minute shift and shiver of them as his hunter spoke, and all he could do was nod, consenting to whatever it was Dean wanted, not even bothering to ask what it was he’d do because he knew that he’d like it regardless.

Dean’s lips moved to the tip of his length, placing a kiss there, and again the melodious hum of Enochian sounded in between his moaning of Dean’s name.  But then, as Dean’s lips parted and the hunter slowly engulfed his member, swallowing it into the wetness and warmth of his mouth with an eagerness that Castiel could feel as well as see – and now the melodious hum became louder, more powerful, like the air shivering with delight around him.

And to top it all off, Dean moaned again around him, and Castiel very nearly lost it already, heat shooting through his entire being – physical and otherwise – and causing him to shake.

“ _Holy father of all, Dean, oh Deannnnnnnnnn…_ ”  Castiel sat up, one hand resting Dean’s cheek to encourage him, and the other remained on the bed, gripping the sheets to ground himself, to remind himself that he was still in the bed and not fifty thousand feet in the air flying on wings that ached along with the rest of his body now, yearning to stretch, to flutter… to cocoon him and the man he was with that was unraveling the universe of humanity he’d dipped his toes into as they fell, fell, fell…

Dean moved slowly, always stopping an inch shy of taking him in all the way, which could be the hunter’s idea of teasing him perhaps, but any complaint Castiel could even think of was driven out of his mind in mere heartbeats by the friction and the wetness and the heat and the sheer intimacy of Dean’s mouth around him.  All the angel could do was moan, shiver, grip the sheets tighter, entwine his fingers in Dean’s hair, and tell him _‘more’_ and _‘heaven’_ and _‘perfect’_ and _‘Deeeeaaaaaannnnnnnn’_ as his grace was boiling inside of him, burning and seething and wanting to break out, to consume his vessel as its delight consumed him.  Dean’s answers were invariably moans and sharp movements of his head or his tongue around him, the heat of his mouth absorbing that part of him, melting his insides, melting his brain, melting everything until they flowed together.

And around him, the air started to shimmer, to sing in joy, as the growing tide of passion inside of him grew so vast he struggled to contain it.

“D-Dean, _ahhhh Deeeaaaan_ , t-take me… _take me over…_ oh _heavens_ , Dean…”, he stammered, his voice wavering – his _human_ voice wavering, because the Enochian was growing stronger, his grace spiking and swirling and billowing inside of him like swept up by a storm, and then suddenly, Dean moved down sharply, engulfing all of him finally, and Castiel’s hips surged up to meet him as all control fell away.  It was all he could do to cover Dean’s ears as his grace exploded inside of him, light flaring up around him like fire from the depth of his being – which it was.

The moment he felt everything unwind in one great fit of heated passionate abandon, the air around the two of them was singing out his perfect moment of unity with Dean and the universe loudly – **_‘k-keh goheeeed quassaaaaaahiiiiiii, k-kommaaaaah…’_** – and he could feel his wings expand until the tips of them touched the walls on either side of him, feathers rustling in a wind that wasn’t there.  His mortal vessel twitched and shivered, writhed and clenched and unclenched, bliss blanketing his every sense.

And Dean eagerly rode out the waves of fiery joy with him, emerald meeting fiery glittering sapphire, and another wave of bliss hit Castiel and he felt a dizzy suspension.

The moment etched itself in his grace like an inscription in perfect marble.  _Dean Winchester, the man that both stokes and satisfies this need in my grace.  Dean Winchester, the man that is more than my charge and more than the world’s savior.  Dean Winchester, mine as I am his.  Now and forevermore._

Vaguely, he could feel Dean pull away from him, sitting back, his hands still resting on Castiel’s legs, his breathing coming in slightly hurried puffs, his heart beating like a crazed metronome.  Vaguely, he could feel his body relax again.  Vaguely-

“…Wow, guess there’s a reason you angels don’t really do the dirty like we do – that’s gotta be impractical, man…”, Dean said, grinning and looking at him with mirth held back, and Castiel could feel the rustle behind his shoulders.

Huh.  He hadn’t ever heard of wings actually _manifesting_ before.  Yet there they were – stretching four foot on either side of him, probably six foot and more if the room wasn’t so cramped that he had to fold them, grey-feathered and shining slightly in the dim light of the bedside lamp – and it felt as if they’d always been there in the first place.

“…Perhaps I should see one of my brethren if they do not disappear within the next few minutes…”, Castiel admitted, folding his wings somewhat meekly around himself.  “…Thank you, Dean, for… enlightening me.”, he added in that same meekness, feeling as if he’d intruded on the hunter’s privacy in ways he couldn’t even justify to himself anymore..  However, he was stopped by Dean gently gripping one of his wings and looking at him.

“…I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said ‘let’s keep the sappy part for later’, Cas.  God, you… you have no idea how much it means to me.  You an’ me, I mean.  What we did.”  His next words were softer, spoken lovingly, the need in them so different from the need that had lay in the hunter’s every word and action before and yet so similar in ways that no longer eluded Castiel.  He felt that same need, that same longing, that same love.  “…What you are to me now, what you’ve been for some time…”

“…I understand now, Dean, and…”  Castiel gave the man opposite him a soft smile before letting his wings stretch and then curl closer again, drawing the hunter into the little feathered den they created.  “…you have become the same to me, slowly but certainly.  I cannot deny that you and I… share a connection that runs deeper than any binding spell ever can effect.”  Dean’s smile was genuine, his eyes shining with that divine emotion of love, and Castiel drew him closer with his wings and his arms alike until they stood, both naked and sweaty and stained with their mutual fluids, embracing.  Sharing a love that had now come to fruition.

“…Cas…”, Dean said after a while, and the angel opened his eyes again to see the hunter look at him somewhat tenderly.  “…Not that you can’t stay – I mean, you’re welcome to sleep here-“

“I don’t require sleep, Dean.”, Castiel said, nodding and allowing Dean to step out of the sheltering cocoon of his wings before flicking his wrist and moving his clothes around himself in the blink of an eye, folding his wings neatly behind himself again.  “…I’d best go seek aid from one of my brethren about these wings.  It would be unwise to be seen with them, it might be… disturbing.”, he said, and Dean looked up from putting his boxershort on again, nodding slowly.

“Yeah, man… hey, uh, Cas?”  Castiel looked at the hunter, _his_ hunter, bound to him as thoroughly as his vessel – and perhaps even more so – and nodded, prompting him to continue.  “…hope your search goes well.  For God, I mean.  I hope you find him.  Even if he won’t help.”  Castiel nodded, knowing what Dean wished and why, and it warmed him to the bottom of his grace that the man he thought of fondly wanted him to find his father, see him, find peace.  “…And, uh, you know, I’m here to help ya if I can, okay?”

“…I know.”   He meant to leave, but right before he did he realized something and he turned back to Dean.  “Dean… can I… ask more of you later?  There’s still a lot that is new to me about this… aspect of human life that we-“

“ _Damn_ , Cas, aren’t you eager now, huh?”, Dean said with a lazy grin, putting his T-shirt on again – apparently his underwear served as his sleepwear, Castiel noted, storing the knowledge for future reference – and shaking his head though his eyes and his voice betrayed pride, happiness and a hint of the heat it had held before.  “…Well, if you want me to go over the, uh, practical bits again…”

“Well, if I could manage to find out how to go about things without having to deal with my wings after the fact…”, Castiel admitted – it was hardly true that he hadn’t been thinking of that as well, at least, he had been once Dean had spoken.  However, it hadn’t been what had prompted him to turn around, so he added: “…But that is not what I meant.”

“Oh?  Well, then, what did you mean, mister ‘teach me please’?”  Dean was teasing, but it was gentle, sweet, and Castiel smiled despite the innuendo.

“…I’m not foreign to emotion, but I am the youngest of my brothers and sisters, so there is a lot that I don’t know about all aspects of a unity of… essences.”  When Dean looked at him, clearly not knowing what he meant, he spoke as plainly as he could put it.  “I know of love, I know of the human concept of ‘soul mates’, but I have never before experienced it.  And since you are wise in all this-“

“Well, _hell_ , Cas, I, uh…”, Dean said, suddenly blushing, and the angel guessed what he’d meant to say, what he was thinking that very instant, as clearly as he’d said it out loud.

_I’ve never been in love before.  Not really.  Not like this._

“…It seems that perhaps we can learn together as we go, then.”, Castiel said with the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, a smile that warmed his grace from the inside out, and Dean nodded without words.  Then again, words weren’t needed when the hunter’s eyes really said it all: soft, shining, loving, tender, almost like a physical caress.

As Castiel stretched his wings slightly and jumped across space to rejoin his brethren again, one last thought imprinted itself into his grace as soundly and eternally as if chiseled in stone.

_Dean Winchester, the man that taught an angel how to care._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (there is actual Enochian in here!! I did spell it phonetically, but it's there. 'C gohed qvasahi, commah' is how it'd be written, and it means 'oh everlasting joy, (tied) together'. Which, as you can probably guess, is Castiel speaking his joy at being bound to Dean's soul.)
> 
> (also a little side-note: I have no reasonable explanation why this story took me so long, or why I needed this to be as long and as damn detailed as it is, but God on high, I like the way this story turned out. And I sincerely hope you do, too.)


	4. Heated (Masturbation, Caryl)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Season 3 of TWD, so skip on over this if you haven't made it that far yet.
> 
> After taking over their new 'home', Carol wakes up in the middle of the night, and reminiscing on all that's happened to her since the Walker outbreak, she arrives at a point where she's musing on Daryl and what he became to the group... and to her.

It had been so long ago that Carol thought she’d actually kicked the habit, come clean of need altogether.  But the night was young, the moon shone outside, and the silence was deafening for once, and there was a heartbeat in her loins, like a bruise or an ache, that demanded attention, satisfaction.

Carol tried her best to push it away by thinking about the past, about how they’d ended up in there, and for a while, it worked.  The thoughts about the past immersed her completely.

At first, when the Walkers took over and people fled, nothing much had changed.  Ed hadn’t made love to her in months, his needs satisfied with his right hand and a fantasy that she just couldn’t fulfill – not that she wanted to even if she could, because the man that she’d married had turned into a brute, a bully, a horror, and she was glad she didn’t have to put up with him much once the group established itself in the hills just outside of Atlanta.  Instead, she focused on looking after Sophia and later Carl as well, the two children mischievous enough to give her ample work.  If she didn’t have to mind the kids, she went with Lori and Jacqui to wash clothes and dishes.  If the women didn’t need her, she helped Dale.

If no one needed her, she was stuck to Ed, and that thought disgusted her.

Once, when the group had fended off a handful of Walkers, and Ed had come back to the tent excited, and he’d not given her a chance to protest before pulling her pants down and taking her, rough and hard and with no regard whatsoever to her.  Not even the fact that she’d been on her period had stopped him, which it usually did.  After that, she did her utmost best not to be awake when he came to sleep, not to answer when he whispered to her at night, hotly and needily, and to not even try and satisfy herself.  When the girls spoke of what they missed most one day after Lori’s husband Rick joined them, she wasn’t lying when she said she missed her vibrator.

Then Ed died.  Eaten by the Walkers.  When the others wanted to kill him to stop him from rising again, she stopped them and did it herself.  With a kitchen knife.  She stabbed him probably twenty times, all the anger and the despair and the disgust flowing out of her and leaving only a hollow feeling in her chest.  Looking at the disfigured corpse, she didn’t recognize either the brutal husband he’d been to her or the charming young man that she’d met on a road trip so long ago.  It saddened her incredibly.

And not even two weeks later, she lost her last family.  Sophia went missing.  Her world ended – or at least shook in its very foundations.  She spent hours worried, afraid, crying, looking for her, looking at the others.  Rick tried to comfort her – lord, the man had tried, despite how distraught she’d been and the terrible things she’d said in her anger and fear – but he’d had so much on his mind back then…

And that’s when Daryl stepped in.

Daryl – the very thought of him seemed to light a fire inside her heart.  The lanky, crude woodsman.  The hunter on the outside of the group.  The loner, the hillbilly.  That’s how she thought of him, even then.  But where none of the group had any idea how to keep looking for her daughter, he went to work meticulously.  He knew the woods, he knew where to look.  When he got shot trying to find her and bring her back home, she tended to him, and she discovered something vital about him.

They’d both been treated badly.

Daryl had flinched away from her, had been suspicious of her kindness, and so much of why he’d avoided the group most of the time became clear to her, more so after Sophia had turned up again as a Walker and they were able to give her a proper burial.  He didn’t know how to show affection, he didn’t even know what affection was, probably.  He thought there was no such thing in the world as kind hands and caring hearts.  And as a result, he’d told himself not to show his own kindness and care.  Of course, that had changed.

Thoughts of the past months came to mind – seeing Lori and Rick drift apart, seeing Carl toughen up every passing day, seeing Daryl take up Shane’s position in the group more and more before and after Rick had killed his once best friend.  But the image that stood out the most was still the evening they’d taken over the prison yard.  The rifle’s kickback had hurt like crazy, and when she’d taken some food to Daryl, the short climb onto his vantage point on top of a tipped-over bus had aggravated the soreness.  She’d said to him what was wrong, not thinking that he’d even react to that.

Let alone respond with an impromptu backrub-strike-shoulder-massage.  But it’d felt good.  And not just because it’d soothed the ache in her shoulder.

She’d discovered that Daryl’s hands, roughened by his lifestyle, were surprisingly soft on her skin, the touch of them gentle despite the hunter’s strength she could still feel as he’d kneaded her shoulder muscles.  Daryl had been gentle, caring.  Loving.  Oh so promising.

And with the thought of that discovery, the hunger deep in the pit of her stomach flared to life again with a vengeance, and Carol blushed modestly in the dark.

…It wasn’t like she hadn’t admitted already that Daryl was attractive and very loving.  He wasn’t like Ed had been, not some sweet-talking man that wanted to woo her.  Daryl was… rough, course, but honest.  He wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth, but you’d get nothing but the truth from him.  If he thought something, he’d speak his mind.  And he wasn’t uninterested.  She’d seen his eyes roam her body, eager and yet shy, protective and yet looking away the instant someone else spoke up or walked closer to them.

The only reason he’d said ‘no’ to her that night was because the thought of saying ‘yes’ scared him.  And in that moment, when Carol contemplated the thought of him saying ‘yes’, the need she felt seemed to grow and her fingers seemed to itch for the contact with her own skin, and she relented with a soft sigh.

The thought of Daryl nodding, looking back at the others and suggesting that they find a quiet spot, a safe spot, was enough to make her smile as she unbuttoned her pants and pulled them down just a little, just enough for her hand to disappear into her panties and lightly trace her outer labia.  It was a tentative touch, just as he’d be tentative, shy, slow.  He’d kiss her as if it was his first kiss ever.

And then the thought hit her that kissing her might actually be his first kiss, his first loving kiss, ever, and she felt a strange choking feeling grab hold of her and shake her internally.  As if Daryl’s first kiss was to be treasured.  As if kisses and love still mattered in the world, crazy and insane as it’d become.  But then her hands grew bolder and her mental version of Daryl did, too, kissing her heatedly, pressing her against the wall with all the impetuous desire a man like him would have.  All eager, all demanding, but yet not without that sense of shyness and slight discomfort that he always seemed to have, especially around her.  No, he wouldn’t be self-assured, she thought as she bit her lip lightly, her fingers dipping softly inward, her inner labia moist.  Her body trembled softly and her breathing quickened, as her pulse did.  Suddenly, she was so very aware of the silence, of the light, of the others’ even breaths.

And then the image of Daryl in her mind’s eye took over again and she let her held breath escape as her fingers drew slow, teasing circles around the sensitive spot where her inner and outer labia met.  The southerner was eager, that much was sure, and so was she.  It’d been an eternity since anyone had looked at her longingly, not just for her body but for more.  Daryl would kiss his way toward her ear and whisper huskily that he wanted her ‘so bad’-

_Darlin’, you’re so beautiful, oh Carol, I want you so bad…_

“Ahhh…”, she sighed quietly, almost inaudibly in case Lori would wake up.  Daryl would be so much different from Ed – if he’d be rough, it was because he didn’t know better, not because he wanted to be.  And in her little fantasy, he wasn’t rough at all.  He paused every so often, looking at her, seemingly taking her appearance in as they shed clothes slowly.  His poncho, his vest – she’d trace the wings on the back and whisper ‘Daryl, you angel’ to him as he kissed down her neck, and he’d whisper something meaningless and sweet back-

_God, you’re hot, I just wanna make you feel good, Carol, so good… oh you feel so good…_

Her fingers moved more quickly now, her heartrate rapid and her breathing shallow and hurried, coming in silent little puffs of air, and she’d begun to sweat even though the night air was chilly, even clammy, but now all attention to the outside world waned much more quickly in the climbing pleasure she derived from her own touches, her fingers moving away from that one little nerve-riddled spot to dip inside of her.  Just like he would.

It was almost shameful, the wetness that met her fingers, but by now she didn’t have any care about shame anymore.  She needed this, needed her moment of relief, the thought of Daryl fuelling her hunger and making her eager.  Now things sped up in her thoughts, the last few clothes falling away quickly.  And then they stood, naked, a second’s hesitation to see the other, really _see_.  And Daryl looked amazing, there was no other way to describe it, lean and strong and scarred.

Carol didn’t have to wildly guess what the hunter looked like naked: privacy wasn’t really an issue in ‘Walker Heaven’, as T-Dog sometimes called the new and ‘improved’ world, and she’d seen him wash himself at Hershel’s farm more than once, not to mention when he’d been unconscious from the gunshot wound and she’d had to peel off his filthy clothes and wash him.  She’d barely dared look but still… he had a body a man could be happy with, she supposed.

But right now, in her mind’s eye, he was perfect – and then, with one step, they closed the minute distance again, their hands moving over bare skin, gripping, holding, squeezing, demanding.  Her fingers, one of which was still inside her and the other that was pressing against that sweet spot she knew all too well, became his – calloused and rough, searching, eager, yet still tender, tentative, hesitant.  The moment he saw her delight, he picked up the pace, pressing harder, with more certainty… and she could almost imagine the heat of his skin under her fingertips, the tickle of his body hair… the feel of his member in her hand as she stroked him, making him silence heated moans and feverish pleas for more against her shoulder.

She moaned softly in the soft light from the moon, every nerve in her body on fire, and her fantasy of Daryl mumbled against the sensitive skin of her neck now…

_Naw, don’t keep them moans in, let me hear, show me you want this too, show me you love this too…_

“Daryl…”, she sighed breathlessly, eyes closing as her imagination and her fingers now combined into one seamless, shameless dream of the hunter lowering the two of them onto the ground, onto his poncho, his hands running over her hips and thighs as he loomed over her.

_Carol, you’re so beautiful… I need you so damn much…_

“Go on…”, she whispered, and her imagination turned the thrust of her fingers into him entering her, going slow, his face alight with wonder and lust and affection alike.  He’d shudder just as she did, his breathing hard and his heartbeat fast, and she could almost feel it now, his heart, her fingers pressing into those sensitive spots she knew by heart, thrusting into her as he would, speeding up and growing bolder, and the unheard sound of his moans filled her head as tension started to grow.  Her body felt taut, her need so sharp, and she bit the side of her other hand softly to keep from moaning.

_Please, Daryl, please…_ she found herself thinking, pleading with the image of Daryl that was hovering over her, his hips crashing into her like the tide of a stormy ocean crashing into the shore, pleading with him to give her what she needed so badly.  And he responded, his voice husky with desire and tense…

_Let go for me, oh god, let go, I wanna feel you there with me.  There, oh there, god yeah…_

She bit down harder, feeling her inner muscles clamp down on her own fingers, gripping her and holding her in place as the fantasy shattered at the same time as pleasure hit, blanking her senses for a delightful moment.  Her body seemed to want to hold her in that space of bliss for as long as humanly possible, but of course that wasn't long.  Once her eyes opened, she was alone again, alone in the cold night.

But the need inside of her, that aching feeling in her loins, had gone away again.  She fixed her pants up again and turned around, ready to go to sleep.

But a soft footstep outside made her open her eyes again and turn so she could look through the iron bar doors.  There stood the man she’d only seconds ago pictured naked, his eyes dark in the sparse light of the moon shining from outside.

“…What’re you lookin’ at…”, he said, and she could hear the awkward note in his voice, as if he’d been caught doing something that wasn’t allowed – almost childishly – but at the same time that soft whisper carried affection, and she smiled his way.

“…What’s up?”, she asked, not answering his question, and he shrugged.

“Thought I heard somethin’, came to look.  Coulda sworn I heard a moan.  Walkers must be gettin’ ideas out there.”, he voiced, and she blushed meekly.  Either she’d missed a Walker’s moan, caught up in her fantasy as she’d been, or one of her own had slipped past her guard.  However, if Daryl thought she’d been the one to moan, he didn’t comment on that thought.  “…Guess it was nothin’.  Sleep tight, Carol.”

“…You too, Daryl.”, she said, and the moment their eyes met, something seemed to shift inside of her.  Even in the pale light of the moon, she could tell that Daryl’s eyes conveyed something more than just a wish for a good night’s sleep.  He nodded slowly and then walked back, only turning around once he was three or four steps away, and all the while his eyes were fixed on her.

And she could’ve sworn that later that night, Daryl’s voice, whispering her name almost longingly, woke her out of a light sleep riddled with dreams of angel’s wings and rough wool underneath her bare back.


End file.
